


Hakuna Matata

by dutchmoxie



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 16:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dutchmoxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tough guy R is totally not crying on the bus (damn Mufasa). Except he is, and the cute boy across the aisle notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hakuna Matata

It was a terrible idea - he knew that right from the very beginning. Watching the Lion King on a stupid, gloomy day such as this one was just asking for trouble. And holding his beautifully encased iPhone - currently playing the scene leading up to the stampede - while on the bus home from work, that might be a bit too obvious. Well, his feelings were a bit too obvious.

He really was trying to hold back the tears threatening to stream down his haunted face - but he was not sure how well it worked. Because the beautiful boy with the long braid sitting across the aisle kept trying to look at him from the corner of his gray eyes. And then the young man - his age or maybe a year or two younger - started rummaging through his flowery messenger bag.

Yes, the great R was not keeping his secret all too well. Which was a rather novel experience for him. He was the master keeper of secrets in his group of friends, the most mysterious Ami to wander the rooms of the Corinthe house. R was the wanderer, the “house spirit” as his friend Courfeyrac sometimes joked. He was mercurial and ruthless and all around an unstable mess.

For some reason his idiot friends still loved him. And on bad days, such as this one, he seriously wondered why they would ever give a damn about an ass like him.

“Here you go,” the boy with the braid offered him some tissues, right from his soft hands.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he took the offerings.

Now he’d managed to make an idiot of himself in front of the most gentle, most beautiful creature he had encountered in a very long time. The guy was a prince straight from a fairy tale, his golden braid catching the light of the setting sun and glowing with shades of copper that made him physically ache for his sketchbook. Porcelain skin, gray eyes and the kindest disposition.

It was obvious that he was just a damn charity case to the boy. His worn face usually inspired either fear or pity, and since the boy was not inching away from him, he had to assume that it was the latter. Why else would a creature of beauty and grace approach the monster of darkness, with the markers of substance abuse drawn on his face and his broken nose making him look more terrifying than he has any right to be? Why else?

“Oh, the Lion King,” the boy sat himself down on the seat next to R, kicking his messenger bag underneath the seat. “I totally understand now. Nobody can keep their eyes dry when Mufusa loses. Poor Simba.”

He nodded solemnly and R was once again struck by how easy this guy made it all look - compassion and kindness seemed to come so naturally to him. R was not good at it himself, because when it didn’t concern his close friends or his favorite Disney characters, he could not muster up any kindness or compassion.

“Do you mind if I watch with you for a bit?” the guy had no problems with sharing the bench seat or the headphones with him, clearly. “I love this movie.”

“Sure,” R tried really hard not to let the surprise shine through too much. “I’m R.”

“Jehan Prouvaire,” the beautiful boy held out his hand for the official introduction.

Their fingers touched, and even though he would have loved to stay cynical and call it static electricity or something like that - there was an actual proper spark. Jehan blushed - he actually blushed! - making him all the more beautiful. It made him human, not just a compassionate angel who would dare sit next to the great mess of R.

“I’m warning you now,” Jehan got over his embarrassment rather quickly, still holding on to R’s hand. “I like to sing along, but I’m not a singer. I prefer to write.”

And an artist too? Clearly this couldn’t last.

By the time Jehan had to leave the bus, their hands were entangled, and as Simba tried to fight for his happy ending, they tried to fight for theirs.

“I’ll be seeing you,” Jehan vowed, as he finally let go of R’s hand.

With the movie still playing on his heated phone, R stared at the beautiful boy until he was out of sight. Only the phone number written on a tissue proved that the whole thing wasn’t a dream.

 

 


End file.
